


It's A Wonderful Yuuri!!!

by ogfujoshi



Category: It's a Wonderful Life (1946), Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Be Careful What You Wish For, Internalized Self-Loathing, Katsuki Mari - Freeform, M/M, Minako Okukawa - Freeform, Takeshi Nishigori - Freeform, Yuko Nishigori - Freeform, a new holiday classic!, alternate universe--you have NO idea!, cursing because cursing, if they don't actually appear they'll get name dropped, no smut to speak of, original character-Frank, somewhere between episodes 11 and 12, thinking bad thoughts but no action on them, what if Viktor had never been born?, yes all the finalists will appear somehow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-19
Updated: 2018-08-21
Packaged: 2019-01-19 11:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12409839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ogfujoshi/pseuds/ogfujoshi
Summary: First stab at the 'Yuri!!! On Ice!/It's A Wonderful Life' crossover that nobody asked for and everyone thought of at the same time! Somewhere between the end of Episode 11 and the first half of Episode 12, where Yuuri says "Let's end this", Viktor finds himself wishing he'd never been born and discovering his wish has been granted. And since this all falls near Xmas, a new holiday classic is born!





	1. Closing Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ken_ichijouji (dommific)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dommific/gifts), [spookyfoot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookyfoot/gifts), [Ishxallxgood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ishxallxgood/gifts), [ViktorBunny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViktorBunny/gifts), [shysweetthing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shysweetthing/gifts), [farseersfool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/farseersfool/gifts), [paxton1976](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paxton1976/gifts).



> Absolute beginner at fanfic here, please don't kill me! My favorite scene in "It's A Wonderful Life" is when Jimmy Stewart/George Bailey shouts to Donna Reed/Mary Hatch "Mary...Mary, dontcha know me? I'm your husband!" and she faints dead away in the doorway of a bar in Pottersville, because Jimmy/George has wished he was never born.  
> Somehow, Yuuri's side of this elbowed its way to the front.  
> If you know this movie, then you probably won't need any more than this. If you don't, well...hopefully I'll get on it and get Viktor's side of it together.  
> Yuri!!! On Ice! belongs to its creators; I'm just some drunk with an idea.

Katsuki Yuri sighed deeply as he turned his key in the lock of Hasetsu Ice Castle, locking the ice rink up for the night. Every day, every week, every month was the same. He’d wake up late, shuffle down to the kitchen at his parents ryokan for natto and matcha, then clean up after the breakfast patrons. A quick run through of all the grunt work that needed doing at the onsen (ridiculously named “Yu-topia!!!” after their only son, and the bliss one was supposed to feel after a soak in the onsen). Amazing how many hours could be killed by that alone. Eventually, some time in the late afternoon, Yuri would work his way over to Hasetsu Ice Castle to run surly tweens through beginner and intermediate skating lessons. Once things were locked down for the night, Yuuri would eventually make his way back to the ryokan, where he would surf the internet until the wee hours, looking at pictures of hot guys and wondering where and how his life had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

Had it been before he was born? That one was too difficult to figure out. Yuuri figured it happened somewhere about the time he was learning to skate himself. He’d followed his sister Mari to ballet lessons (and why did he do that would be the question he’d ask himself forever, other than he was young and bored and lonely and to be honest he liked the leotards and dance shoes that Mari had for class), only to have the instructor, Minako-sensei, sideline him into skating. What could he do? He was a kid, Minako-sensei was a friend of his parents from their school days, he went to the rink. 

At the rink, he almost came alive, almost felt human. Almost. Flying around in the cold, wide-open rink, yeah sure it was an enclosed space, but once Yuuri took off his glasses, it was like the rest of the world didn’t exist. Minako-sensei introduced Yuuri to Yuu-chan, and for a while Yuuri thought that maybe he liked Yuu-chan enough beyond the rink, saw her as more than a sister, until the day that jerk Nishigori sideswiped Yuuri in front of Yuu-chan. How embarrassing! And...Yuuri realized, he kind of liked it. Liked what Nishigori did to him more than Yuu-chan’s fussing over Yuri’s bruises and Nishigori being an asswipe. So when the tiny tv at the rink with the coat hanger and aluminum foil working in service as an antenna pulled in some ice skating competition, Yuuri found himself more and more making pretend gagging faces along with Nishigori at the sparkly outfits and slender skaters, who would have Yuu-chan leaping from their mutual viewing bench exclaiming “Someday I will be there, too!” Still, Yuuri found the outfits the skaters wore, well, for lack of a better descriptor, interesting. He could like the way everyone looked in their flashy outfits, even if he realized more and more that it was the young men in their tight, severe and understated outfits who caught his interest, instead of the budding young women in their pastel chiffon and sequins. 

So Yuuri rolled his eyes at the fruityness of ice skating, ice dancing, pairs, you-name-it, while he endured and pretended to enjoy the roughness of hockey. Yuuri would endure just about anything (and hadn’t life growing up with Mari-neechan as an older sister proved that?) to get what he wanted, and in this case it would be in a locker room with a bunch of other guys in various stages of undress. Oh, the glory of Yuuri’s teenage years! The casual nudity, the team members with just a small tiny towel draped around their waists! Yuuri blew out another breath, remembering how nearly impossible it was for him to keep himself from getting overly *ahem* excited by it all. How he’d run home after practice, any practice, whether it was hockey or ice dancing (because by now Yuu-chan had roped Yuuri into that, not like she had to pull hard) and rub a quick one out in the private showers of the onsen before going for a soak and a mental replay of the day’s events. 

Yuuri felt entirely too old to be having such thoughts. Youth is wasted on the young, Yuuri thought. Not like Yuuri was ancient: He was only 23, but it felt more like 123, so entrenched Yuuri was in what he could see was the rest of his life until the day he died. Slowly, he and Mari would take over operations of Yu-topia as their parents aged out of the various jobs that entailed running one of the last ryokan/onsens in Hasetsu. Thank god Yuuri was only 23--he still had at least seven more years before everyone started shaming him about getting married and having a family. Poor Mari was already stale Christmas cake, not that things like that ever bothered her. Mari could give two fucks about what ANYBODY thought about her and what she did, and Yuuri found himself frequently wishing he could be both exactly like Mari in her bad-assery and more than a little frightened by it. 

But before Yuuri could fully turn and head out, as completely lost in his thoughts as he was, he realized he heard the sound of someone rushing up the steps to Ice Castle Hasetsu. Someone in a huge hurry, someone panting and gasping with what sounded like their last breaths. Yuuri steeled himself, trying to fish his keyring into some kind of weapon. This wouldn’t be the first time some idiot thought that the person closing the rink had money. Money, HA! One look at how down at the heels Hasetsu had become in just Yuuri’s lifetime should work as some kind of warning to any idiot thinking that knocking over the weak-looking dude closing out the ice rink might have some cash on him--Yuu-chan had quit having Yuuri take the night deposit to the bank, simply because it cost more in Band-aids to cover Yuuri’s scapes and cuts than what was in the deposit bag. After the second mugging, it seemed easier to let Nishigori take the bag during the day. 

Nishigori, sigh. Not that Nishigori was anything near Yuuri’s ‘ideal’, other than the fact that Nishigori was a dude. Nishigori’s attitude left a LOT to be desired, in Yuuri’s book. Yuu-chan didn’t seem to find that a problem, as evidenced by the triplets, whose appearance before Yuu-chan was technically finished with high school caused quite the scandal for about a week in Hasetsu. 

So Yuuri heard the breathing, heard the footsteps racing up the stairs, and turned and braced himself for the inevitable smash and grab. He was already in a semi-crouch with his hands up in a defensive posture, when in a heavily accented voice he heard his name: “Yuuuuuri!”

Yuuri looked up through his crossed arms. This can’t be happening to him…

In front of Yuuri was the most beautiful creature Yuuri had ever seen, man or woman or beast. Tall, silver-haired, eyes that danced between blue and turquoise and green, with a mouth shaped like a heart and a body shaped for either skating or sin or both. A little taller than Yuuri, but that was ok, Yuuri always liked a bit of a stretch. 

Yuuri, thank god I found you!” 

Well, that was a new one. Not like he had time to review, but Yuuri couldn’t honestly remember if anyone, anywhere, had ever greeted him with such a statement. Not like Yuuri’s brain was giving him time to process it all.

Yuuri!

This time, the good-looking stranger was a little more intense. The stranger stopped, tried to grab Yuuri’s arms. Yuuri was having none of that. A brief remembrance of that time in Tokyo, how Yuuri had to wear long sleeves and had difficulty moving for months afterwards...Yuuri swung his arms up and around, breaking the hold and making off down the street. Good-looking stranger seemed flummoxed for a moment, then quickly picked up and trailed behind Yuuri.

Oh shit, oh shit, ohshitohshitohshit… Yuuri began to think. What is this guy up to? What does he want? What do I have to do to get away with the least amount of pain here? Yuuri was panicking, looking around as he both headed back to the onsen and deliberately tried to not head in that direction, not wanting to lead whoever-the-fuck this was to where Yuuri lived. Big mistake, letting them know where you lived. Like that time in Tokyo…

Yuuri, darling, moye malen'koye solnyshko, I’ve missed you so much! 

The beautiful stranger shouted, tugging at Yuuri’s sleeve. 

Yuuri! Something is wrong with the world, something horrible has happened!

Well, ok, Yuuri thought. Something indeed horrible has happened, because I don’t know who the fuck you are, even if you are easy on the eyes and quite probably the one true embodiment of everything that I could ever ask for in a love interest. Yuuri picked up his speed, trying to look at his surroundings without being too obvious. Can’t let good-looking weirdo realize what Yuuri had in mind…

The good-looking stranger kept pace with Yuuri. How was that even possible? Nishigori couldn’t keep up with Yuuri these days, whether on the ice or out for a jog. Triplets would do that to a guy, but Yuuri never had to worry about that, even if he wasn’t as skinny as his high school days. Suddenly, it dawned on Yuuri: Head to Minako’s. She’s most likely be behind the bar at this point in the evening, but even if she was in the dance studio for some unguessable reason, there would still be a crowd of people. Yuuri crossed his fingers that the crowd would be at the bar instead of the studio: drunks were always easier to rally than dance parents. Dance parents were always so judgy; they just KNEW you’d done something to deserve whatever you dragged into the studio. Which said a LOT about them bringing their children to learn ballet in the first place, if Yuuri thought about it. 

Minutes...seconds...Yuuri could see the door to Minako’s bar up ahead. Almost...almost...Yuuri found himself breathless, remembering all the mistakes of his past, the furtive gropings in love hotels, the gimlet eyes of proprietors as they handed over keycards, the grim darkness of a standup in what was hopefully a secluded enough alley...was this what they meant by one’s life flashing before their eyes at the final moment? Yuuri thought to himself that if he survived whatever was next, he would earnestly, truly, try to be better, to live a better life. Be himself. Be honest. Fuck everyone else. Because…

Yuuri!!! Don’t you know me? It’s me, Viktor! Yuuri, I’M YOUR HUSBAND!

It seemed like hours but was just minutes that it took for Yuuri to open the bar door, the patrons to see that Yuuri was in serious distress and rise to his rescue, to hear the good looking stranger’s shout, for Minako to come out swinging from behind the bar with a baseball bat, for the good-looking stranger, those eyes so blue-green-turquoise-whateverthefuck beautiful overload to give Yuuri a look that conveyed more love and loss and pain and hope than Yuuri ever thought possible to convey with just a look….

With a shriek, Yuuri short-circuited, and everything went black.


	2. A Strange New Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor asks himself a dangerous question.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I did not include 'thoughts of suicide' in the prompts, but if you've ever seen "It's A Wonderful Life" then you know it gets dark before it gets light. Here it's all more vague internal monologue than actual action, but if you're sensitive or feeling vulnerable, consider yourself semi-warned. Also warning for lame attempts at humor.

Viktor stood at the edge of the seawall, hands thrust deep into his coat pockets, watching the sun slowly rise over the Mediterranean Sea. Was it just a mere day ago that he was in the same spot, admiring the gold band on his right hand in the light? Now, his hands were so cold that he couldn’t even be sure if the ring was still on his finger. He checked for it with his thumb. Not that it mattered…

All night Viktor been stalking around Barcelona, walking up and down streets both wide and narrow, not paying attention to anything except his need to walk and to not think. His need to not remember how there he was in their room, fresh from his shower, still dripping around the plush robe and towel and oh so full of love for his Sleeping Beauty. It had been a good day. Yes,Yuuri had touched the ice during his SP, but they were laughing over the thought of Minako and Celestino unsupervised in the bar across the street. Yuuri’s earnestness as Viktor sat on the window seat to dry off should have set off an alarm.

“After the Grand Prix final, let’s end this.” Yuuri had said, seemingly out of nowhere.

Shock and surprise had tears running down Viktor’s face before he could stop them. What did Yuuri mean, ‘Let’s end this’? Weren’t they moving right along, finally? Sure, Yuuri had touched down, not good but hardly catastrophic, and Viktor was convinced in his heart that the judges were being unfairly harsh in their scoring of that touchdown, even if he hadn’t had the chance to verbalize that to Yuuri just yet. But end this? END THIS?

Words, words, words and more words...why did they have to talk so much? Why did it all suddenly become so difficult again? The knowledge that until two nights ago Yuuri did not even remember their first meeting, their dancing, Yuuri’s drunken plea for Viktor to come to Hasetsu and be his coach, that had scabbed over quickly, but Viktor was still tender about it. He did a fresh mental facepalm or spit-take every time he recalled how handsy he had been with Yuuri over the past nine months. Vikor shifted from foot to foot.

Even with the early hour and a keen wind blowing in from the sea,Viktor was not completely alone. There were a few people milling about on the seawall, some walking on the beach itself. Where was the person who had been walking their dog yesterday, Viktor idly wondered, glad for a moment when he was not thinking about Yuuri or skating or life or love or the future...Dammit, he’d done it again. Viktor forced a deep exhale and an equally deep inhale. What was the point of anything if he didn’t have Yuuri in his life? Hadn’t Viktor been able to make that clear to Yuuri? Why could he not make this clear to Yuuri? 

Standing still, taking another deep lungful of cold air, a not-so-new thought occurred to Viktor. What was the point of anything, any more? A scrap of something from the past...was it some streetcorner evangelist “...if I have not love, I am nothing.” Yup, that summed up Viktor, body and soul at the moment. What had he ever accomplished, really? Medals, championships, those were all something, sure, but if he couldn’t have the love of his life IN his life, well then, maybe it would have been better if he’d never been born at all. Viktor thought about it again, tested the not so new idea in his head, and willed himself to speak.

“I wish I’d never been born at all,” Viktor whispered to himself as he exhaled into the dawn. 

The pain Viktor felt was sharp, immediate, very real, and oddly enough, in his right knee.

Viktor looked down and away from the rising sun, and tried to look at the street vendor who had just run into his right side with an insulated cart with CERVEZA in battered red letters. He blinked, trying to dispel the sun dots, but all he could make out were the outer edges of the man’s face, someone older, possibly balding like Yakov, but with that straw cowboy hat on his head, who could tell?. Before Viktor could unleash his full irritation, a can of beer was shoved into his face.

“Oh, goodness, I’m so sorry, you take your eyes off these carts for a second and they get away from you! Here, have a beer, on the house, no hard feelings, eh friend?”

The sun might have been just coming up, but a beer sounded like a very good idea to Viktor. Still trying to rub the sun spots away with his left hand, he reached out with his right hand and took the beer and looked to see what brand it was. A red can with a gold star. Estrella Damm was right. Curse the gold star that dropped him into where he was now, Viktor thought, popping the top and after a silent ‘Salud’ and nod towards his attacker and his cart, took a long swallow.

“Mind if I join you?” the mystery man asked, and without waiting for an answer fished out his own beer, popped it open, and pulled a long swig. “Ah, breakfast of champions” he said with a wink.

Viktor winced at the word ‘champions’ and turned back towards the cart to take in this curious vendor. Besides the fact that Viktor generally considered beer a summertime quaff, the idea of anyone selling beer anywhere at the crack of dawn in December, well, even Viktor’s hard-drinking Russian self was impressed. Taking another swallow, Viktor realized something.

“You speak Russian,” Viktor said, more statement than question. Who was this odd duck? 

“It seemed like a safe guess,” the vendor shrugged. “It’s winter, you’ve apparently been outdoors for while, locals don’t tolerate the cold as well…” he trailed off and shrugged again.

Viktor side-eyed him over another swig. The vendor matched Viktor, swallow for swallow. 

“Well, thank you very much for the beer, but I must be going...OW” Viktor hissed as he tried to turn and walk away. His right knee had other ideas. 

“Oh, that’s not a happy sound! I think I hit you a little too hard with my cart there, Viktor!” The vendor held out an arm. “Perhaps we should sit?” 

Viktor felt a kind of internal whiplash at the sound of his name. This person knew his name? International fame be damned, not everyone kept up with the names and faces of ice skaters, even if the Grand Prix final was being held that very weekend in Barcelona. Viktor glanced around; the small groups of people all seemed to have vanished in the few minutes it took for the sun to pop up above the horizon. No witnesses, well, wasn’t that just perfect? He put weight on his knee again. Not as bad as the initial turn, but it still didn’t feel right. Gritting his teeth, Viktor took the offered arm and they covered the short distance to the bench. 

“Oooops, be right back! Don’t go anywhere!” the guy popped up from the bench once Viktor was seated, running over to the cart and bringing an ice pack and another two beers. “You know what they say, ice that injury!” the merry fellow almost cackled, handing Viktor both the ice pack and another beer. Every stalker alarm in his brain was trying to go off, but they seemed muted to Viktor, as if a towel was wrapped around them. They just weren’t very loud, and he just didn’t feel as scared as he somehow knew he should. His knee must be worse than he thought; he must be going into shock. He must be feeling fuzzy from a beer on an empty stomach. Putting the ice pack on one side of his knee and the unopened beer on the other, he looked fully at his gleeful assaulter, finally able to see the man without sun dots obscuring his details. His face was kind, slightly weathered. He could be anywhere from forty to sixty years old, with street vendors it was always hard to tell. He was compact, almost muscular, but soft. He liked his beer; he must have been some kid of an athlete in his youth. Viktor mulled over the possibility of outrunning this guy for some safe space, and decided to try and talk his way out of whatever it was that was happening.

“You know who I am” was all Viktor could manage to comment. He glanced at his right hand; the ring was still on, and looked dull in the rising sun.

“Why, of course, EVERYONE in Barcelona knows the great Viktor Nikiforov! Five time world champion, Olympic gold medalist, the pride of the motherland!” This guy was loud enough it was a wonder he wasn’t attracting a crowd. Oh, that’s right, everyone had disappeared. And was the sun in the same place it was before they hobbled over to the bench? Viktor shook his head; this beer was doing a bigger number on him than he realized. The vendor then leaned closer to Viktor, almost whispering, “I know everything there is to know about you Viktor Nikiforov. I know where you were born, who your parents are, where you went to grade school, that the first person who kissed you tasted a little like old cabbage and you found both the taste and the fact that they did not ask repulsive, and how the first person you willingly kissed tasted sweet and a little salty like caramels from that street festival you met at.” The odd fellow leaned back, raised his second beer in a salute, and announced “In short, Viktor Nikiforov, I know everything there is to know about you. I am your guardian angel, and my name is Frank!” 

Frank finished off his beer, crumpled the can, and lobbed it over Viktor’s lap towards a trash can that conveniently was where Viktor hadn’t noticed when they lurched over to the bench. The crushed can clattered about the rim, then bounced out onto the seawall. “Ain’t that the way?” Frank muttered, bouncing up and snatching the can off the ground, trying for a rebound. The second try also missed. “Shaddup, Joseph” he muttered under his breath, snatching the can from the ground and shoving it into the recycle bin. “You might want to close your mouth before you start attracting flies, Viktor,” Frank said, tilting his head to one side and grinning.

Gobsmacked. That was the word Viktor’s brain was searching for. Viktor was clearly gobsmacked. He closed his mouth, opened it, closed it again, and looked squarely on at Frank. There was nothing particularly angelic about this person, as far as Viktor could see, and he would know, after twenty years of chasing ice skating gold. For starters, this person was…

“...you think I’m not young enough or pretty enough to be an angel? Don’t you see, that’s how we manage to keep an eye on everyone. Oh, and Mister High-Horse, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I’ll have you know that in my day I turned heads, both ladies AND gents. Particularly the gents! Why, Oscar Wilde himself waxed poetic about my rare and precious…Oh alright Joseph, I’ll get back to the matter at hand.” rolling his eyes, Frank leaned back towards Viktor and stage-whispered “Some people think I blow my own horn a l i t t l e t o o m u c h, but really, gather ye rosebuds while ye may!” Frank glanced upward with thinly veiled contempt, then continued. “Please allow me to properly introduce myself” He stood. “Viktor, Nikiforov, I am Francis Caponata, G.A.S.C., as assigned from up above!” Frank twirled his hand with a little flourish, then bowed low. He glanced up at Viktor from under the brim of his hat.

“Caponata? Isn’t that an eggplant dish?” Viktor added amused to gobsmacked.

Frank sighed and sat back down next to Viktor again. “What’s wrong with eggplant? Just because your name is perfect for you…” 

“Should I applaud?” Viktor mused. “G.A.S.C., I can’t say I’m familiar with those letters. Unless “SC” stands for some kind of skating club, you have me at the disadvantage.” 

“Guardian Angel, Second Class. And before you ask further, it means that I STILL HAVEN’T EARNED MY WINGS” Frank punched the admission with a clearly perturbed look heavenward. He produced another flamboyant bow in Viktor’s direction. “Perhaps you will be the one that gets me that feathery distinction of First Class?”

Now Viktor knew... the beer, the injury, all of it...he HAD to be dreaming! A quick pinch to his left leg proved otherwise. Alright then, time to open the second beer. Viktor took a gulp, wincing at the warm temperature. He’d always known he ran hot, so to speak. Even Yuuri had complained sometimes about his ‘thermonuclear butt, radiating heat in every direction” when they would sleep in reverse spoons, but still, if the sun hadn’t gone up any more, why was this beer so warm? Oh, Yuuri... Viktor took another chug and turned to face Frank.

“Well, then, Mr Francis Caponata, G.A.S.C., to what do I owe this honor? Time for a little hands-on intervention? Honestly, I can’t believe I rate only a second-class angel! Guess I shouldn’t have skimped that time I lit that candle?” 

“It wasn’t the skimping so much as what you did with what was left of the money in your pocket, I’m afraid,” Frank said, wiping his hands down his legs. “Seriously, did you think you’d get away with blowing your money on hot chocolate?”

“Well, up until this minute, yes,” Viktor replied. “Also, I was twelve, and in St. Petersburg in winter. So now what, Guardian Angel?”

“Viktor, please, call me Frank. All my friends do. No, at this point, you’ve worked yourself into quite the pickle. I’ve moved into a more, as you put it, ‘hands-on’ state, because you were thinking of doing something we rather frown on upstairs.” Frank paused, gazing at Viktor full-on, keenly evaluating every square inch of him.

“I have no idea of what you’re talking about,” Viktor huffed. 

“Please, let’s not play this game,” Frank said. “We both know what you said.” The look Frank was giving Viktor was stern, but kind. It reminded Viktor of the look Yakov would give him on particularly bad days. 

“Fine, alright, I said it! I wished I hadn’t been born!” Viktor jumped up from the bench, immediately regretting his emotional reaction,. “If you’re who you say you are, and have been watching all this time, then surely you understand.” Favoring his right knee, Viktor sat back down and flipped the ice pack. “Surely you, of all people, can see what a waste of time and energy my life has been?” Viktor rolled his head backwards and shut his eyes. He’d had about enough of all this. 

“It’s not like I was going to do anything about it,” Viktor sulked, as he rolled his shoulders.

“Once again, you forget who you’re dealing with,” Frank replied. “Do you have ANY idea how much work it is to patch the great tapestry of life when someone decides to do a little quick editing on their own? ‘Give them free will, it will keep it interesting’ oh sure, easy to say, but to be honest, it’s getting old, having to run down here and stitch and reweave and fix all the mayhem everyone’s little ‘self-abandonment’ issues create. Quite frankly, if I’d had my way, I would have stepped in shortly after the banquet last year. Some of the folks upstairs can be quite the mean little sick fucks when it comes to helping a brother out…”

Dark clouds had been gathering out over the ocean as they talked. At Frank’s last sentence, a clap of thunder rolled, and the sky immediately lit up with lightening.

“I’m right and you know it!” Frank shouted at the sky. “So, Viktor, what do I have to do to prove all this to you?” Frank leaned over and put his chin on Viktor’s shoulder. In anyone under the age of 30, it would have been an adorable move. Viktor just felt nonplussed.

“You heard me,” Viktor stared into Frank’s eyes. “I wish I’d never been born.”

“If you insist,” Frank countered. 

Suddenly, a dust devil scoured the beach. Another crack of thunder and lightning. Frank gave the skies another gimlet glance, then taking Viktor by the arm, said “Perhaps we should go somewhere else?” 

“Good idea,” Viktor both said and thought as he stood. With any luck, he’d be able to ditch this psycho and make his way back to the hotel in time for Yuuri’s practice. They’d made it up to the main road before Viktor realized he no longer felt the effects of two quick beers on an empty stomach. Hooray for his strong Russian booze-loving genes! Why, even his knee didn’t hurt any more! Hands in pockets, he ran his thumb over his ring finger...Viktor gasped.

“It’s not there, you know,” Frank said, stretching. Viktor turned, giving him a questioning look.

“Yuuri’s ring, it’s not there.”

Viktor pulled his right hand out of the pocket. No round and golden ring! He feverishly checked all his pockets for the ring, a hole that the ring could have slipped through, the ground around them. Surely the ring slipped off his cold finger when he wasn’t paying attention. Viktor ran back to the bench.

“It’s not there, it never existed, YOU never existed, remember, therefore, there is no ring, Viktor. Do you understand the gift that has been given to you just now?” Frank cocked his head and looked up at Viktor. “This is not a gift that we give to just anybody, you know.” 

No, no, nonononono… Viktor couldn’t be sure if he was saying things out loud any more or just thinking them inside his head. He had to get back to the hotel and find Yuuri, and barring that, to the arena. Yes! The arena! The sun looked like it was higher in the sky now, people were walking about again, it didn’t even seem as cold any more. Someone would be able to explain to him what was going on. He was drunk, tired, injured, but if he got back to the hotel, got back to Yuuri, or got to the arena, everything would be alright. They would work this out. They would. They would…

“I don’t know who you are, or what you’re trying to pull, but I have to be on my way now!” Viktor bolted up from the bench and sprinted down the seawall. “Thanks for the beers, and good luck with those wings!”

Frank watched Viktor sprint away. “Okay, you win,” he said to nobody in the vicinity, which was just as well because nobody in the vicinity could see or hear him. “I didn’t think he’d be a runner, but human nature, whatchoo gonna do, eh?” He glanced up at the clear skies above, at the start of a beautiful day. “Oh for crying out loud, are you going to bring THAT up now? Clarence, Clarence, Clarence, yeah, I get it, but it worked, didn’t it? So which way did he go? Um, ok, thanks!” Frank said, and then he winked out. Good thing nobody could see that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone who has commented and kudo'd! I haven't written anything in quite some while, so your responses have been the welcome back I needed to keep going.


	3. At the Arena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor asks an old friend for help at the arena

For a five-time World Champion figure skater, Viktor slowed to a halt rather flat-footedly a half a block from the Grand Prix final arena. He kept moving forward, until he found a reflection where he could check his appearance. After a night on the beach, quick finger comb would have to do. Luckily, he’d had a fair bit of practice rocking the bedhead look over the years. 

Shaking out his sleeves, Viktor started patting his pockets for his credentials. He didn’t remember snatching them up on his way out after he and Yuuri had declared a truce of sorts and both pretended to go to bed, but hoped that his autopilot senses had kicked in and he had at least grabbed some sort of I.D. when he snuck out after an hour of pretending to sleep. Coat, jeans, jacket...all pockets were coming up empty. No keycard for the room, no wallet, no spare change, no phone, no arena credentials: Viktor realized he didn’t even have so much as a breath mint on him.He checked his breath. Ugh, after two beers on the beach, it would have been better to have something in his mouth before approaching the security entry checkpoint for athletes. He checked his breath again. Ugh, maybe he could just not answer questions? Just wave and smile? It would have been nice if he had at least remembered his sunglasses. 

Several groups of skaters and coaches were moving towards the entrance. Was it practice time already? Viktor glanced around to see who was heading in. Hmmm, this must be some different group coming in to practice; Viktor didn’t see Yuuri or anyone he knew. Well, okay, there was that Canadian who dissed Yuuri at Rostelecom, what was his name again? Not important; as one skater moved aside with their coaches and equipment bags, Viktor recognized a blonde head: Christophe! 

“Chris! Chris!” Viktor slipped in between other skaters, who stepped aside to let him pass. He caught up to Giacometti, put a hand out and touched Chris on his shoulder. 

“Chris, thank god! I need your help! Yuuri and I had a fight and…”

Chris turned, with a “Hmmm?”

Viktor did a double take. Chris was clean shaven.

“Chris...what…?”

“Mmmm? Mon cher? Do we know each other?” Chris gave Viktor a long up and down look. “Not that I wouldn’t mind getting to know you better, but perhaps after I win the Grand Prix?”

Oblivious to Chris’ response, Viktor ducked his lips to Chris’ ear. “I’ve lost my credentials and I need to get inside and find Yuuri! Can you get me in?”

They were getting closer to the guards. Chris gave Viktor a dismayed look at the name “Yuuri”, flicked a glance up to the guards, then back to Viktor. 

“Quel dommage,” Chris whispered back to Viktor. “If it is Yuri you seek, he was at the Juniors last month in France, but he might be here with his team to watch. They do so like to watch each other.” Chris pulled his head away from Viktor’s, and giving a leer said “I like to watch, too.”

“Get me inside and we’ll see...” was all that Viktor managed to hiss before their group got to the entrance. Before Viktor could react, Chris flung an equipment bag across Viktor’s shoulder, then pulled Viktor’s head down into a headlock/noogie position.

“Bonjour Nick! You remember this one from yesterday, n’est ce-pas?” Chris sing-songed to the security team checking badges with scanners. “He has gone and left his pass at the hotel, but he is with me, so that is fine, d’accord?” 

Viktor could see nothing but shoes and pavement. Chris was having too much fun earnestly applying noogies, tangling Viktor’s hair.

“Ha ha, Mr. Giacometti, you know I shouldn’t!” Nick didn’t really laugh. He held out his hand for the plastic badge. Chris’ coach stepped up with their badges.

“Oh Nick, I promise I will take personal responsibility for this one!” Chris still wasn’t letting Viktor stand up and look at the guard. Viktor didn’t know whether to be grateful or not, but once he found Yuuri, he would definitely get even for this.

Chris leaned up to Nick’s ear and purred something. Nick blushed and waved the group inside.

Viktor shook off Chris’ headlock once they were past the door. “Can I thank you for that later?” he huffed, straightening out his coat and scarf.

“Mmm, better thank me now,” Chris boxed Viktor against a wall. “You’ve already been drinking, and drunkards sometimes forget their promises.” Chris nuzzled Viktor’s ear, and dipped a hand inside Viktor’s coat.

“Here?” was about all Viktor could get out. Chris had few boundaries, and they had a FWB past, but still…a glance past Chris’ head and Viktor realized that all the other athletes coming in were studiously avoiding looking anywhere in their direction. Chris’ coach was about ten feet away with his back turned.

“Oh mon cher, you are so hard on me!” Chris pouted. Glancing around, he linked his arm with Viktor’s and they all started moving towards the locker rooms. “Perhaps you are right. It wouldn’t do to have no energy for the competition, would it?” Viktor tried to match Chris’ pace, so he wouldn’t look like he was being dragged along. “Very well,” Chris sighed, “Up ahead are your Yuri’s people.” Viktor craned his head up like a prairie dog, trying to see Yuuri’s dark head in the crowd ahead of them. “But before I turn you loose, give me your phone. You’re not getting away without giving me your number!” 

“Chris,” Viktor sighed, rolling his eyes. “You have my number.”

“Ah, bien sur, I have your number mon cher, but not in my phone.” Chris turned loose of Viktor’s arm to fish his own cell from his gym bag. Viktor shrugged, held up both hands. “I don’t have my phone with me.” He tried to look sheepish. He tried to gage if he was was out of Chris’ reach. 

Chris fixed Viktor with a stare that would shame puppies. “Who let you off your leash this morning, mon cher? They should be punished!” Chris held out his phone to Viktor and sighed. “Very well, give me your phone number, s’il vous plait!” Chris stared down his nose at Viktor, wanting him to challenge his using “vous.” 

The phone was already open to contacts. Viktor thought about just bolting with the phone, but didn’t think he’d get very far with it. Wait, Chris had Yuuri’s number; he could just call him now and it would all be better. With a deliberate and not very convincing ‘Oops’, Viktor swiped the side of the contacts to...Warren...Yolande...Zeph…

Viktor blinked, and scrolled back up the contact list. No Yuuri. Viktor scrolled a little further. No Viktor, for that matter. He stared at the screen. Chris had had his phone numbers for ten years. Home and cell. What the what?

“Ah mon cher, are you this inept at everything?” Chris huffed, snatching the phone back. “Good thing you are so pretty. Give me your phone number, maintenant! It would be a shame if Nick and his other burly friends had to roughhouse you out of here, n’est ce-pas? Although...it might be fun to watch.” 

Glancing ahead and still not seeing Yuuri, Viktor snatched the phone back from Chris and hastily entered his number. “I hope you’re happy” Viktor growled, as he shoved the phone back at Chris and took off running.

“Not half as happy as I hope to be!” Chris yelled, waving goodbye.

Chris’ manager walked back over, picking up the equipment bag that Viktor had ditched on the floor. “You really should be more discreet.One of these days you’re going to get into trouble for this kind of behavior, you know,” he sighed and turned towards the locker rooms.

“Doubtful,” Chris huffed back. “Other three-time champions have done worse. The little Russian fairy he seeks isn’t here at all, but his great big bodyguards on the men’s team are. This ought to be fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter seriously wanted to turn into crack (is that a hazard when Chris turns up?) Mwuah ha ha, clean shaven Chris is a reverse of bearded AUs everywhere!  
> THANK YOU to everyone who has left kudos or comments--my geriatric laptop likes to crash a LOT, and it doesn't want to let me return comments, but I can say it here, so THANK YOU ONE AND ALL!  
> At this rate this is coming together, it will probably be at least four more chapters. It's amazing to me how these characters like to hijack the story I have in mind and take it out for a spin (or to sometimes sit in the story yelling at me to come on and get this thing moving!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor catches up with Yakov but doesn't understand what's going on...

Viktor darted off, weaving in and out of groups of skaters, coaches, backstage hanger-ons. He wanted to put as much distance between himself and Chris as he could, plus he had finally spotted a familiar fedora in the distance. 

“Yakov! Yakov! Thank goodness! Wait up!” Viktor shouted, as he pushed his way through the mass of skaters, coaches, reporters and other hangers-on in the area. The fedora did not turn, but the head of one of the burly men behind Yakov twitched slightly in Viktor’s direction. “Yakov, please, something’s wrong, you have to help me…” Viktor reached in between the two very obviously not skaters and pinched up the back of Yakov’s coat in his fingers. Yakov jumped and turned.

The burly reaction was immediate. In a flash, Viktor was pinned in a half-nelson against the front of the one holding him, Viktor’s arm painfully twisted behind his back. Yakov’s eyes went from Viktor to the bodyguard and back again. “What gives you the right to touch me? Do I know you?” Yakov squinted.

Viktor let loose his most exasperated sigh. “Of course you do Yakov, it’s me, Viktor. Tell the goons to lighten up, please?” Viktor rolled his eyes left and right, at the guy standing in an attack stance between them and the one still twisting his arm up behind his back. Yakov nodded, and Viktor felt his arm be released, although no more space opened up between Yakov and him.

“State your business.Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?” Good old Yakov, gruff and annoyed as ever.

“Really Yakov, this coat is Valentino, do you know what it would cost to repair it if he had ripped it?” Viktor dusted off his arms and front. It was always best to meet Yakov’s annoyance with his interruptions with his own annoyance. As he straightened the lapels of the coat, Viktor tossed his head to remind Yakov who his star skater for the last twenty years was. He glanced at the group: Yakov, Mila, a couple of lesser male skaters whose names escaped him, and the bodyguards.

He was met with an icy glare of indignation mixed with a total lack of recognition. From all of them. Shaken, Viktor continued with his faux indignation. He straightened his cuffs.

“I need to find Yuuri. Have you seen him? Is he here yet?” 

Yakov’s expression darkened. “What business do you have with my Junior gold medalist? How do you know him?”

Viktor huffed, trying to act confident while his brain was screaming caution. “Oh please, Yakov, I’ve known Yuri since he came to St Petersburg. We practice every day together, along with Mila there, and Georgi…” 

Mila’s eyes went wide, and she stepped further behind the guards and other skaters. Yakov darkened and poked Viktor in the chest with his index finger.

“You know Georgi?” 

“Of course I know him, Yakov. We’ve practiced and competed together forever. Why, just yesterday I saw him here at the short program…”

“ENOUGH!” Yakov bellowed and the goons immediately took action, one snatching Viktor back up in a half nelson again and smashing him into the wall, while the other herded Mila and the other skaters quickly away into the depths of the building. Yakov smacked a hand against the wall near Viktor’s face, spittle flecking his lips as he whispered/screamed into Viktor’s ear. “I don’t know who you are or what you are up to, but if you saw Georgi yesterday then you must be an escapee from the mental institution he’s been locked up in for the last three months after killing his fiancee and her secret lover!” Yakov turned and glared at the goon. “GET THIS PIECE OF TRASH AWAY FROM MY SKATERS, and if he comes within one hundred yards of Yuri I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU DO WITH HIM!” Yakov stormed off.

The goon held Viktor against the wall until Yakov disappeared in the crowd. Once he seemed satisfied that Yakov was out of range, he grinded into Viktor’s back, and whispered in his ear, “Tell Chris now he owes me two, but if you come along, I just might consider us even.” He licked Viktor’s ear and pushed off roughly, slipping through the press of people to rejoin the Russian team. Viktor stepped back from the wall, wiping his ear in disgust.

“Well, that could have gone a lot worse, although at the moment it’s kinda hard to imagine.” Frank jumped down from a rack of folding chairs that was parked against the wall. “Did you not understand?” Frank seemed sorrowful, sad. “You asked and got your wish. You’ve never been born. You, Viktor Nikiforov, never existed.”

Viktor tried to huff, but it felt more like Frank had gut-punched him. “Don’t be ridiculous, I’m a five-time World Champion and Olympic gold medalist…”

Frank cut him off. “Not in this world. Chris is the champion, but only three times. Cao Bin won once. Georgi won once, plus the Olympics, but after he snapped and murdered Anya…”

Viktor shook in anger. “No, this can’t be! Georgi and I practiced together every day! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

“Georgi wouldn’t hurt a fly because he had you to commiserate with. Without you there to talk to, he kept it all inside until it became unbearable. Without you, he followed Anya for weeks after their breakup and murdered her and her new boyfriend in a jealous rage. Yuri and Mila were the ones who discovered what Georgi had done. They both nearly quit skating as a result.” 

Viktor fell back into the wall behind him. “How is this possible?”

“You were Georgi's calm in the storm, Mila's older brother whom she emulated from afar. Without your records to strive for, Yuri felt no need to rush into seniors division, especially with Chris on top of the podium. His reputation, ah, well, how do I put this? He’s a little too ‘handsy’ for the other skaters to want to share the podium with him. Crispino, Altin, even J.J. …”

“J.J.?” Viktor looked over at Frank, who had come to lean against the wall next to Viktor.

“Still obnoxious in this world, I’m afraid. Some things can’t be changed.” Frank tilted his head and smiled gently at Viktor. “One life can touch so many, frequently without ever knowing, sometimes in ways one could never imagine. You’ve been given a great gift, Viktor. To actually be able to see how your life made a difference to others.”

Viktor dropped his head, taking it all in. Suddenly, he remembered why he was at the Grand Prix Finals in the first place. He turned to Frank and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“Yuuri,” Viktor said darkly. “Where is my Yuuri?”

Frank sighed and looked Viktor in the eyes. He looked as if he wanted to cry. “Yuuri never left Hatsetsu. Without you for inspiration, his anxieties got the better of him and he was never able to compete beyond the block championships level in Japan. He teaches beginner classes at Ice Castle Hatsetsu, and takes the train to Tokyo once a year for a Grindr hookup. No one at home knows he’s gay.” 

“Take me to him.” Viktor growled, a command, not a request. “TAKE ME TO HIM NOW!”

“Viktor, I can’t. It’s not exactly nearby. Wingless here, remember?” Frank tilted a shoulder out from the wall, as if to show Viktor his featherless back.

Viktor leaned in close to Frank, their foreheads almost touching, icy blue sparks firing up deep in Viktor’s eyes. “If you can manage all THIS,” Viktor waved his arm around, indicating the backstage bustle going on behind them, “You can figure out a way to get me to my Yuuri. Ask your invisible friend. He’s the one who’s really in control here, isn’t he? What was his name? Jimmy? Jacob? No wait,” Viktor turned his head to the ceiling and bellowed “HEY JOSEPH, HOW ABOUT A HELPING HAND HERE? Your boy Frank doesn’t seem to be on his way to wing man any time soon!”

“How rude!” Frank sighed, and neatly flipped Viktor so that he was the one pinned to the wall and Frank was in his face. “This is a mutual cooperation thing here. Why should I help you now? Don’t you know you get more flies with honey than with vinegar?”

Viktor looked genuinely puzzled. “Why would I want flies in the first place? What IS it with you and flies? And don’t change the subject. Your ‘help’ as you call it, is supposed to get you your angel wings.” Viktor pushed Frank away and crossed his arms. 

Frank sighed. “Yes, my friend, but you can’t go bossing the guy upstairs around.” Frank looked sideways to his right, not talking to Viktor, but spoke out loud. “What say you Joseph? In for a penny, in for a pound?” Frank paused for several minutes, as if listening to someone, nodding. He exhaled deeply, linked an arm with Viktor, and gestured to Viktor that he should do the same. “Alright Viktor, here are the rules. Number one: deep breath in and out.” Viktor whooshed loudly to prove he was paying attention. “Number two: close your eyes and keep them closed until I say you can open them.” Viktor closed his eyes like a small child playing hide and go seek. “Number three, and I cannot stress this enough, do NOT let go of me until AFTER you open your eyes.” Viktor nodded vigorously, his hair flopping forward over his eyes. “Right then, off we go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My deepest apologies to everyone for pulling a Yuuri and vanishing for over a month. Between the holidays and my birthday and family, it has been all too much. The laptop deciding it is 'full' is not helping, either. But after New Year's Day I should have plenty of time on my hands, and hopefully this will wrap up in two more chapters.


	5. Chapter 5

Viktor felt overwhelmed.

Viktor NEVER felt overwhelmed.

Viktor knew he was holding on to something for dear life, but what exactly it was he was clinging to was anyone’s guess.

Viktor took a deep breath, then another. And another. What exactly was going on?

The first thing he realized was just how loud every thing was around him. Too many sounds assaulted him. So hard to make any sense. Slowly, everything settled, sounds calming, well, not as overwhelming as at first, but still loud. Viktor realized he was standing with his hands on his knees, taking in deep gulps of air. He tried listening to what was going on around him, but nothing made sense. Weird strings of vowels and consonants assaulted his ears first, then his brain. His brain was having none of this. Nope, unless the eyes and a few other senses agreed to join in on this party, he was on his own.

Viktor cracked an eyelid.

Viktor looked around.

His hands were technically free (other than grasping his knees so desperately he was sure there would be marks the next morning). He wasn’t sure where he was, but he sure as hell wasn’t where he was before whatever it was that happened, happened. Wasn’t there someone else with him? At this point, he didn’t really care, as he had to step out of the way of a very angry-looking woman who was barreling his way down a tight corridor. Viktor took a step backwards. His feet connected with tile. He glanced over his shoulder.

He took in the fact that there were several Asian men, all naked, in various states of scrubbing themselves, and all singing the same song…

...which Viktor realized, was coming from the direction the very angry looking woman had headed…

Viktor regained his balance, and headed off down the hallway. He knew by palming the walls and counting the steps that somehow he was headed to the public rooms at Yu-Topia. He heard a screen door bang open far ahead of him, and the singing got louder. Viktor found himself bounding down the stairs three at a time, and unable to stop, grabbed the open door frame from whence the decidedly off-key and totally in a still undecipherable language singing was coming from, and was met almost face-to-face with…

...Katsuki Toshiya, clad only in a fundoshi, with mulitple kanji on his chest in what Vikor could only guess was lipstick, singing a rousing chorus of god-only-knows-what, because between the Hasetsu accent and the drunken slurring, even a sober local would have trouble following the words to the song. Five or six other men in a similar state of dishabille were joining in just as enthusiastically in whatever it was they were singing. Mari was wading into the fray, a bar towel in each hand, swinging and swatting at the drunken chorus in aggravation and frustration. Viktor swung his arms wide, and started herding the drunks in the direction of the lounge, which seemed where Mari intended them to go. 

All the drunks seemed to know the drill. Toshiya turned at the last minute, staggering up a different set of stairs to what Viktor knew was the family section of the onsen. The rest either grabbed coats and shoes, or didn’t, and all drunkenly headed out the main doors of the onsen, grabbing on to each other in pairs or triplets, continuing on with whatever verse of whatever song it was they thought they were singing. A song, “99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall” leapt unbidden into Viktor’s mind, memories of a long lost trip in North America. Feeling as though he’d helped with great things, Viktor turned to Mari.

“Mari, where is Yuuri?”

Mari looked at him as though Viktor he was speaking English. Actually, he was. Viktor ran his question through his mind a second time, and then tried

“Yuri-kun, wa dokodesu ka, Mari-neechan?”

Mari’s eyes widened a bit, before a fury such as Viktor had never seen played across her features before she schooled them into something even more deadly. A harsh torrent of Japanese was unleashed in Viktor’s direction only seconds before the bar towels and then anything else loose in the area of the noren curtains was flung in his direction. Viktor lit out across the courtyard of the onsen, taking refuge by the outer wall near the street. Several geta came sailing after him, punctuating Mari’s message.

“Well, I wondered how long that would take,” Frank smirked. 

Viktor took in the spectacle of Frank, leaning against the outer wall, decked out in a jinbei and geta, despite it being December. “What?” Frank exclaimed, “I thought it would be slimming! And you know how comfortable these clothes are…”

“Where is my Yuuri?” Viktor growled, snatching up the lapels of Frank’s jinbei and pulling him up to his face. “Where. Where is he?”

“Now Viktor, you know I can’t tell you that…” Frank meekly protested.

“Where...where is he…” Viktor’s face was taking on the same look that Mari’s had had just a few minutes before.

“Well...you’re not going to like it…” Frank looked down at his feet, dangling a foot above the sidewalk. Despite the immediate threat of grievous bodily harm, Frank stalled.

“WHERE. IS. MY. YUURI. TELL ME! NOW!” The sound coming out of Viktor was something primal, guttural, and totally unlike any noise that had ever issued from him ever in his lifetime, but he didn’t care.

Frank wilted in Viktors hands, almost sobbing. “He’s at the Ice Castle. He’s just closing up for the night…”

Viktor dropped Frank to the sidewalk and took off with a speed that would make any runner proud. Frank picked himself up off the sidewalk. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, this was your idea, after all,” he muttered as he dusted himself off. “No, I did NOT get to join in the party at Yu-topia, did you not see me waiting outside like a good boy?” he whined to nobody in particular, before seeming to vanish in a wisp of fog.

++ ++ ++ ++ 

The Hasetsu that Viktor found himself running through was familiar and totally alien to him. Over the summer months Viktor had been there, he had learned to recognize the stores and their signs around him, which streets led off to homes tucked away from main roads and which ones led to the commercial district. Were the neon signs here always so red? That corner over there seemed much brighter than Viktor remembered...bright interiors meant that was a bar, right? Viktor shook off his confusion and continued running, across the bridge (no one to shout “Ohayo gozaimass” to at this time of night, but at second glance that spot looked as if no one had ever fished from it) and down to the turn and up the steps to where he could see…

Yuuri. His Yuuri. Locking up the front entrance of Ice Castle Hasetsu and setting the alarm for the building in the panel to the left of the main doors. Viktor almost couldn’t contain himself...he couldn’t contain himself. Before he knew what he was doing, with palpable relief, Viktor shouted out Yuuri’s name and closed the gap up the stairs between himself and his beloved. 

Yuuri’s reaction to Viktor’s shout was anything but someone happy to see him. At first, Yuuri went rigid with the shock of hearing his name being shouted out at that hour of the night. Then Yuuri whipped around, seeking the source of the noise. When his eyes fell on Viktor, standing there ever-so-happy at the top of the stairs to the Ice Castle, the myriad expressions…

Confusion…more confusion...trying to decide if this long tall drink of vodka in front of him was someone he knew (whether he remembered him and why he remembered him or not)...then slowly growing in fear as Yuuri decided whether or not he knew who this ice god on the steps of the castle calling his name was or not, he definitely did not want to become reacquainted with him in his home town, took hold. 

Yuuri meeped in shock, dropped his skate bag, and took off in a direction away from the onsen.

Viktor followed in hot pursuit.

Yuuri ducked and feinted, twisting from one narrow street to another. Viktor’s shouts of “Wait, Yuuri!” seemed to only panic Yuuri more, and cause him to duck down what would be considered alleyways to anyone but non-locals. Too bad Yuuri had shown Viktor these very shortcuts to both Minako’s dance studio and her ‘snack’ bar. Viktor found himself lagging far behind in the crowds on the streets (was it always this crowded on a Friday night in Hasetsu? Viktor felt like he was fighting the people traffic like that time they went to Kyoto.) He managed to keep Yuuri’s head in range, and watched as Yuuri turned the corner into the bar instead of the dance studio.

Viktor rounded the corner, and could see Yuuri swimming up to the bar through the throngs of people inside. Loud music blared from cheap speaker both inside and outside the bar. Suddenly, Viktor could see that Yuuri was slightly taller than everyone else in the room. Yuuri must have stood on the rail of the bar to get Minako’s attention, which worked, also gaining the attention of a bald, sumo-type guy behind the bar as well. Viktor could see Yuuri wildly gesturing and pointing in Viktor’s direction, and not in a good way. Panicking, Viktor kept shouting and waving at Yuuri, until in desperation he shouted at the top of his lungs

“YUURI, DON’T YOU KNOW ME? I’M YOUR HUSBAND!”

Later, Viktor might try to puzzle out how he could take in so many different things in one moment, but for right now, all he could do was record and react.

Despite the blaring, fuzzy music, the bar went quiet. All heads turned towards Viktor. Including Mari (and how did she get there so fast?) And Minako. Who both had baseball bats. And who both, along with many, many, far too many people in the bar, seemed to be merging towards Viktor with evil in their eyes and anger in their hearts, while Yuuri fainted over the top of the bar.

Viktor felt a strong tug on his sleeve, perhaps he even heard “RUN” shouted in his general direction as he struggled to turn and swim back out of the throngs of bar patrons, before a sharp something hit him in the middle of his back, and suddenly things didn’t make much sense again...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to you all for leaving you hanging for almost a year! Along with excuses, here is a promise to finish this up, and hopefully in keeping with everything that has gone before (and true to its original inspiration!)
> 
> I'm not out of the woods yet, but Viktor and Yuuri will soon be!

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to re-watch IAWL but Amazon wants $13 to purchase it! I have a VHS copy (yes, I'm OLD) but the VCR was given to my folks a decade ago when they decided these new-fangled DVDs were too hard to operate. Guess we'll all have to wait for the holidays to be sure I managed to align the stars properly...


End file.
